


Change

by ectotwinks



Category: Moral Orel
Genre: Friends to Lovers, Gen, Inspired by Fanfiction, M/M, Redemption, Religious Content, Slightly - Freeform, Wholesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:41:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29638242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectotwinks/pseuds/ectotwinks
Summary: The Reverend and Clay Puppington have a night stroll together, a year after a near-death experience caused Clay to clean up his act.
Relationships: Clay Puppington/Rod Putty
Comments: 10
Kudos: 10





	Change

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17068787) by [sodium_amytal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodium_amytal/pseuds/sodium_amytal). 



> happy late International Fanworks Day and late Valentine's Day. <3

Nighttime at the Moralton church is lonesomely quiet. 

You don’t live here, but you’re very attached to the place - naturally - and even the daytimes here lately have been drab and lonely. You’re also waiting for your cat Lucy to come back from her escapades around town, so you can feed her and return home with a good conscience. Ever since the sermon where you told everyone that the best way to assure you getting into Heaven isn’t, you know, coming to Church every sunday — or hating the gays — or not having sex till marriage — that it’s actually just good, human kindness, the building has been pretty quiet. Sometimes Orel pops in to help you clean up and occasionally Stephanie and Nursula bring by flowers, but that’s about it. You didn’t even have a sermon last week, since the only people who showed were the aforementioned three. 

What you’re not expecting as you grab your keys on the way out of the holy building, is a hearty knock on the door. 

“Anyone home?” That’s Clay Puppington’s voice. You peruse your choice of words neatly — he’s been shaping up lately, to be fair, dropped the alcohol and is picking up the hobby of being a nice parent for once. 

You have no clue why he’s coming to you, though — is it about the dinner you and his family had last weekend? Is it ab— 

“Putty, I know you’re in there.” 

“Come in,” you say hesitantly.

Slowly, he pulls open the door to the church. He sidesteps in sheepishly, a contrast to his usually confident demeanor. Expectantly, you glare at Clay, but the look on his face and the way he reluctantly smiles at you shows you’re not even sure if  _ he _ knows why he’s here. 

"Nice night we're having," he states, wincing.

“Don’t know if it’s a night  _ we’re _ having, Puppington, but it sure is a night, isn’t it?” 

Wow, alright, maybe you’re being a little snarky. You shoo Lucy away from your desk, sitting down in the chair and moving some papers. 

“Come on, sit,” and so he does, fiddling with his hands as he does. 

“What’s on your mind, buddy?”

He shrugs at you nervously. "Thought the ol' Rev might need some of my company. Yes, I'm incredibly busy and all, but out of the goodness of my heart I'm putting that aside for now. Giving back to the people and what not." 

You nod hesitantly, not really believing that he’s  _ actually _ busy — but to be frank, you’re pretty lonely too. Orel’s hanging out with Stephanie for the night, and you’d feel bad for imposing on that. And you’re honestly just... a pretty lonely person. You’re out of all your F words for the day, as one may say. 

“Alright, well first, drop the ‘Reverend’ stuff. It’s after hours, you can just call me Putty.” 

“Rod?” He pushes slightly. You frown. 

“Yes, alright, Rod works too. Whatever.” Clay’s like... like a lost puppy. You know that’s rather emasculating to say, but it’s not wrong. He went from... from this big strong wolf, to a lonely puppy. And you’re not sure if you’re just lonely and depressed or if you actually enjoy spending time with him, but you have the urge to get him out of this rut he’s found himself in. 

“You wanna go on a walk? I gotta shut the place down soon, all these chandeliers make the power bill skyrocket.” You grab your coat off from the back of the desk chair. 

“Not like God pays for all this bull.”

"A walk sounds great. I wasn't lying about it being nice out." Clay responds, standing up from his chair, his own coat still on from when he walked over to the church. 

Over the next ten or so minutes, you go through the nightly routine that you, at this point, know by heart. On the outside, it’s a wonderful building, honestly -- but nowadays, decades after you started preaching here, it’s extremely suffocating. 

Once you’re done, Clay faces you, and you notice him fiddling with his hands and averting his eyes awkwardly. He’s very obviously anxious -- not as hard a cookie to read as he likes to think he is. "After you," he offers shakily.

You grab your keys out of your pocket and glare at him with slight judgement.  _ Not your place. It’s just a bad habit. _

You open the large front door of the church, holding it open for Clay to exit before you, locking it behind the two of you as you hear him exhale a frigid breath. It’s coming up on winter time again, Orel’s 14th birthday having just passed a couple weeks ago, so the temperature drops significantly in the nighttime. You wouldn’t be shocked if it snows overnight, to be frank — the roads are already getting somewhat icy, so you might as well just walk home tonight as well. It being around this time of year again means it’s been nearly a year since Clay started shaping up for the town. Maybe it took a near-death experience to do that — and you believe it, knowing how stubborn he can be first-hand — but you’re proud he’s been at it for so long though. (You wouldn’t actually tell him that. Gives him too much credit.) 

“So how was your week? Been busy with mayoral matters and all that jazz?”

"Yup. Boring and time consuming as always. The highlight of my day is getting home and getting to spend time with Orel, honestly," he tells you, a genuine smile crossing his face. "He's quite the competitive  _ Scrabble _ player." 

"That's cute." You respond, laughing a little. You're certainly not stranger to familial events with Orel, given your... weird situation with him and Stephanie. He really is a perfect kid, you think. You used to want to strangle Clay for treating him so badly, but you suppose everyone deserves second chances, and the kid himself forgave him, so... You let it pass. Everyone changes. 

"You been in contact with Bloberta lately? I know she moved back in with her mom out of town, but is she doing alright?" Probably not the time to ask, but you're not sure what else to prod about.

"She's alright. I don't talk to her, but Orel does." You’re mildly surprised when he approaches the topic with sincerity rather than blind anger. "Perhaps it's wishful thinking, but I hope we can be on better terms someday."

"I'm sure you can, someday." You take that back, actually. "Well, actually, I don't know. To be honest, Bloberta's never been the forgiving type, and I'm sure you know that better than anyone."  _ But hey, that's why you've got people like me here, _ you think, and fore-go saying. Too much, you muse. 

The two of you wait at the crosswalk, and you try to think of something to bring up. "Hope you're happy most of Censordoll's complaints haven't been making their way to you." You shift stance on your legs a little. "She refuses to talk to you directly, so she brings me all her ‘formal complaints’ or what have you. And, well, there's a reason i keep a shredder under my desk," you comment, chuckling a little.

"Rod, it's made my job like, 50% easier. You have no idea," he tells you enthusiastically, both of you laughing in earnest. "Call me if you ever want to put those shreds to good use. I make a mean steak when I use the grill. Or, hell, the fireplace could always use more fuel."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind." You smile fondly. "Dinner with you, Orel, and Stephanie was nice. Much better than the same with Bloberta and the rest," you fiddle your thumbs, finally walking across the crosswalk with him. There's no cars at this hour in this town, so you take your time. 

"Speaking of which, have you eaten dinner yet? It's not  _ that _ late," you pause, wiping your frosty hands on your coat. "Uh, if you wanna come back to my place and chat more over dinner, we can. Or- I can just pick something up for you from in town." Wow, you're feeling generous tonight.  _ It's the right thing to do, _ you tell yourself.

"If you'd have me, that'd be nice. I wouldn't want to impose. You're a lovely dinner guest whether you're attending or hosting."

You mumble under your breath. "You can’t be imposing if I'm the only one around anyway." 

* * *

The walk to your house is peaceful and quiet. That compared with the noise of birds chirping and owls coo'ing seems to stir something in Clay's face, and you wish you were better at distractions to bring his mind off of whatever he's thinking about. You sigh in your head. 

"You know, I'm proud of you. You're doing really good at redeeming yourself, you know?" Never thought you'd be saying this right now, but here you are.

That makes him stop in his tracks. 

"You don't need to say that. It's just basic human decency I always should've had. It's an expectation, not an achievement, Rod. I'm not exactly Mother Theresa."

"Of course I don't  _ need _ to. I want to. And I mean it." You turn to him, looking up at him. Your slight height difference is mildly embarrassing. "And the fact you can recognize that you're just getting better with what you should have already had in the first place shows exactly how improved you are. Seriously."

He pauses, contemplating your generous words.

"I don't exactly agree with you, but thank you. You're too kind, Rod."

"Of course, bud. And-- We all have our moments," you chuckle. Man, just earlier you were pitying him, now you just want to give him a hug. 

Not long later, the two of you arrive at your small suburban home. You fiddle with your keys, between many membership tags and mail keys from years past, opening your creaky door and turning on the light as you do so. "Come on in, make yourself at home," you say. "Take off your shoes though. Can't have them messing up my tile, I just mopped it today."

"No, trust me, I get it. I never understood why Bloberta was so protective of our carpet until I was the one who actually had to vacuum it," he laughs, slipping off his shoes with ease. 

* * *

  
  
"What are you feeling like for dinner? I don't have much, but you are the guest." you ask him, poking out from behind a wall with an apron on. It fits you oddly well, and you're somewhat embarrassed to say that a  _ kitchen apron _ is the first thing that's made you feel something like 'pretty' in a long time.

"Anything you want to have is fine by me. I'm really not picky," he tells you with truth, smiling slightly at your get-up.

"Alrighty then," you say, walking somewhat hurriedly to the cabinet and grabbing some penne pasta and tomato sauce. You do the usual -- getting the water to a boil, putting the pasta in, you know. Shouldn't have to monologue about making pasta. 

"Hey, come make yourself useful and drain the pasta for me while I set the table," you tease him, letting the sauce simmer on the stovetop while you go to light a couple candles on the dinner table.

"Sir, yes, Sir," he calls out in response, teasing you in return. 

Once you plate the both of your meals, you sit down at the decently decorated table with him and silently say the Lord's prayer. 

_God, if you're actually up there -- been having some doubts lately, hope you can't blame me, you know -- come on, you've gotta be seeing how depressing my life is. Getting pretty lonely, since nobody's been actually coming to church and all, and you know how my social life is by now. I don't want to seem desperate, but can you work some of your magic one of these days? Gets hard around the winter, too, especially._ _That's all. Thank you for the food, for the roof over my head, all that... Uh, signing off,_ **_Reverend_** _Putty, if that's worth anything._

You figure that in the silence, Clay’s giving a prayer too, as it’d be unlike him not to. It’s a pretty long one, at that, but considering what he’s been through lately it’s probably warranted.

"Uh, I hope you enjoy dinner," you say, blinking dazedly. "It's really not much, but hey, I'm trying. Better than microwave dinners, you know." You scrape your fork against the bowl. "Stephanie being in my life and having another -- sometimes two -- hungry mouths to feed really motivated me to pick up cooking again." 

"You did great with dinner," he tells you, genuinely impressed.

"So, what hobbies have you and Orel been up to? You guys can't go skii-ing this year or anything-" (shoot, probably shouldn't have mentioned that) -"so have you got any holiday plans? I know Steph's gonna swindle me into throwing some Christmas party here, but if you -- uh, and Orel -- showed your faces, it'd make it a little more worthwhile." You try changing the subject quickly.

"I... I don't know, honestly. We're just getting accustomed to being a family again, I think. We'd love to come, if you'd have us." 

“Oh, oh that’s fantastic. Uh... thanks, by the way. For the compliment. It’s really nothing, just uh... you know, doing my job.” You adjust your collar. Truthfully, it’s not wrong — your job never really was just preaching, besides in description. Because that’s not what being a good Christian is about, it’s about just... being a good person. So, you think, as you reach out to hold Clay’s hand, that just being there for the people you care about and those less fortunate than you is enough. You’re completely okay with that, you think. 

* * *

“Well, thanks for coming out here with me,” you say, scrubbing at the dishes as Clay hangs out on the other side of the counter. “Mind if I give you a drive home? You shouldn’t be walking alone on the icy roads. Gonna slip and fall.”

"I... I cant ask that of you. You've already done so much for me." 

"No, please. I don't want you getting hurt, buddy," you tell him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It's the least i can do."  _ You've already done a lot for him just tonight, but. That's irrelevant. _

At some point you convince him, and the two of you grab your coats to venture outside. It's probably dropped about 5 degrees at least, but that's fine, your car has a heater. "What's your address again?"

He repeats his address back to you and you plug it into the GPS in your van mindlessly. 

"Have you ever thought about being something other than what everyone expects of you?" He asks suddenly. You pause from fiddling with the heater, and look at him gently as you turn the car into ignition. "Like... maybe I don't want to get another wife after I move on. Maybe I never wanted a wife in the first place," he huffs, cutting himself off.

"Yeah, I get that," you say, turning the steering wheel as you drive. It's a drive you've made many times before, given Clay lives in one of the most populated neighbourhoods in the area. "I think, you know, society convinces wives that they gotta wed quick and fast, and convinces those husbands that they have to be the only one keeping it lasting. I guess society just also breeds bad people, when it comes to our generation," you murmur as if it's one you're act. "But I've seen some gems," you say, obviously in reference to him. 

"There's still hope, you know. And... can't lose that."

“I suppose you’re right,” he says back, sighing and leaning back into the passenger seat. It’s a quiet drive at that point, just you cross-referencing the identical suburban houses & their street numbers with the one on your GPS. Sometimes you wonder if the town would be better with a little more colour & change, a little more personality, but you also know that most people who live here would cut their limbs off before changing their mindless suburban lifestyle even just a little. Then again, that’s what you expected of Clay, and… he’s clearly changed from that quite a lot. 

Pulling into his driveway, you thank him for a nice night, but he assures that he’s the one who should be thanking you. Politely you escort him out of the car, and the two of you pause in front of his front door.

He holds your hands earnestly, a bitter chill escaping his breath. 

“Can I kiss you, Rod?”

The question sends a thrill of shock down your spine, but you nod, and before you’re able to verbalize anything Clay kisses you tenderly. You’re glad the two of you are in the dark, because your face splits a million shades of bright red at the very action. In return, you hug him a little more heartily than you’d like, and he pats you on the back.

“Have a good night, Clay,” you tell him eventually when you’re able to get the words out.

Nighttime in Moralton that evening was peacefully quiet.


End file.
